


Apex of Love

by Rosage



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Domestic, Ensemble Cast, Kid Fic, Marriage, Other, Trans Julian Devorak, Trans Male Pregnancy, nonbinary characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 19:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19324630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Parenting is hard enough when you're not a magician and a former fugitive. But Asra and Julian aren't alone, and they're determined their children won't be, either.





	1. It Takes a Village

**Author's Note:**

> The referenced Carrow is Fayery’s apprentice.
> 
> Thank you to Phrenotobe for previewing this.
> 
> I put a lot into this and very much hope it is enjoyed.

Julian can only lie in bed for so long before he wants to sword fight something. He already tried to get up twice, but nausea wrecked him, and Asra shouldn't have to smooth back his hair a third time.

Now he lies on a pile of pillows on the floor. Asra sits cross-legged beside him, knitting a sweater. He's graduated from tubes for Faust to baby human shapes, but his first attempts have been misshapen lumps. Their size makes Julian tear up anyway.

"Why aren't you the one who can get pregnant," Julian groans for the hundredth time. "You're great at lying around. I can take care of pregnant people, I've delivered babies… A baby elephant, even…"

Asra sets down a needle to pat his hand. "If it were me, you wouldn't be able to keep up with my cravings." Asra can cook anything, and eats a portion of it alongside him, no matter how bizarre. Even Asra's favorite skink dish looked good for a week (and made him vomit the next). Who knows what disasters Julian would make trying to replicate the favor?

The emotion demons pumping through him almost make him weep at the thought that he couldn't provide for Asra. How is he supposed to provide for a child? What do children eat?

(He knows what children eat—he has a little sister, they grew up with other children, and he's advised patients on their child's diet. But what do they _eat_?)

The baby thumps like they’re sick of being caged in, too. "I swear there's two babies kicking around in there," Julian says. "What if it's twins? What if we have to feed twins? What if it's _not_ twins, and they're lonely?"

"Nazali says it's not twins."

If Asra's voice can't soothe him, Nazali's name does. Julian's delivery will be in the best hands, the same ones that fixed the top half of his body when he was a young man. He left the rest alone partly for this reason—he's always wanted to be a father.

The emotion demons strike again, feeling painfully like hope. He reaches for Asra's knee like it's a raft at sea.

“I told you about how Nazali made me the handsome devil I am today, right?” Since Julian’s given up nights at the tavern, Asra has taken pity and listened to several stories he’s already heard, sometimes even without poking holes in them.

“Of course. You’re always handsome.”

Julian squeezes Asra’s knee without launching into the tale.

After a while, Asra bends to rest his ear against Julian's stomach, his eyes glossy like when he communes with Faust.

"What're they saying?" Julian asks.

"Who says they're saying anything?" He returns to his knitting while Julian paws at the rug.

* * *

It turns out Asra can commune with the baby, a fact Julian extracts after asking for the hundredth time.

“They haven’t told me a thing, Ilya,” he snaps. “They haven’t even been born.” Julian wilts, and Asra softens. “I can sense them, a little. And if you really want, there’s a ritual I could try to glean more about them, but it’s not that—”

“You can?” Julian seizes Asra’s hands before he stops to think. “Wait, is it dangerous?” It’s been a while since he asked that about every spell, but their child is at stake.

“No, just unlikely to yield much. Spirits in that state are so wiggly.”

Julian rubs his belly. “They sure are. Slippery, even.”

Asra’s eyes crinkle, and he goes to grab a book.

Later that day, Julian twitches on the floor while Asra draws an intricate chalk circle around him. He thinks about everything he wants to know: if his diet is suiting them, if they like the lullabies he croons, if they know they’re loved.

And what should everyone call them? He and Asra both named themselves, but between them, they’re having the hardest time naming someone else.

Asra settles beside him in the candlelight, shadows dancing around his lips as they move. Julian’s heart and belly pound in unison.

When Asra opens his eyes, they glint like a bit of flame got caught in them.

“Well? Did you learn anything? How are they?”

“Their name is Zawar,” Asra breathes. “And he wants to come out and play.”

* * *

They go to the palace in advance of the delivery. Several times now, they've been invited to live there. Most of their family does, as Aisha and Salim remind them frequently. They even stayed there during home renovations—Julian bought the place next to the shop, with his clinic already on the other side, so they could make a larger living space. 

After they carved out their own patch of city, he swore not to impose on Pasha. Besides, neither he nor Asra have a clue how to raise a child in a palace.

But when the time comes, Nazali uses its facilities, and the rest of their family stays nearby. Julian, who tells everyone in earshot that he's been through worse, ends up finding childbirth as excruciating as any of his patients have.

He'd do it again. The sight of Nazali (his exalted mentor, the older sibling he never had) holding the red, floppy bean ( _his child_ ) starts the first wave of tears. The second rides that momentum when Asra cradles Zawar ( _their child_ ) with his own eyes shining. And then they're in Julian's arms, so small and needy against his chest, and he thinks he'll dry into a raisin.

“We’d better get some fluids in you,” Nazali says, the curve of their mouth unusually soft despite their arched brow. Tiny fingers curl against Julian’s wet jaw, which hangs slack.

In the coming days, Mazelinka has to force him to stay put and recover. Aisha brews more tea than anyone knows what to do with while Salim gives Zawar inspections. _We're grandparents,_ they murmur to each other at intervals—it's clear they’re thinking that at one point, they could only hope to see Asra again. Thinking about that now, with his own child too floppy to hold up their head, shreds Julian’s heart.

Pasha patches it. She rocks Zawar and talks to him like he’s Pepi, and it turns out Julian isn't a raisin yet, because the dual needs for Pasha to never let go and for Zawar to be back in Julian's arms, right now, nearly tear him apart. Nadia, who has no idea what to do with other people's children, sits with Asra and asks about every gift she's thought to give them. She softens when Carrow sings Zawar a Prakran lullaby.

_You know where to find us,_ several people say when the couple leaves. Even Nazali stays in town for a while.

Zawar sleeps and burbles, unaware of how many people's hearts grew to give them a home.

* * *

Julian presents their house with a flourish to Zawar, who's asleep in Asra's arms. "Just when you finally found a captive audience," Asra says.

"Ah, well. What do you think they'd think?" He studies their cozy space, trying to see it through the eyes of an infant born in a palace. Asra has piled more pillows than ever between the bookshelves, making the place a veritable napping center. Unlike the shop, where dried herbs hang, these windowsills brim with live plants.

"I think they'd think everything looks edible," Asra says.

"Thank god we got rid of the poisonous plants." Julian searches for the thousandth time for anything he didn't childproof. Between his chemicals and Asra's magical components, they had to get a lot out of their house. The shop and clinic are problems for the future, when Zawar is old enough to walk between buildings. For now, he hooks nails like kitten claws into Julian’s shirt, drooling with his eyes closed.

That first night is bliss, brimming with possibilities as they stay up and whisper predictions.

“Their first step will be at the palace, on one of those plush rugs. Not too hard a fall,” Julian says, though he’s picturing something rougher.

“Of course. My parents will make that happen, just so they don’t miss it. But they’ll miss his first spell, because he’ll be making squirrels fly in the woods.”

“I’ve seen those, you know. Flying squirrels. They actually glide.”

“Oh, no, not with this spell.”

Julian can’t even be surprised anymore.

* * *

The bliss wanes. They never heeded warnings about a new parent's lack of sleep; neither of them ever get any, outside of naps. _It's like we were made for this_ , they joked, especially when a parent bemoaned a messy house. They underestimated the tension of lying there in the dark, waiting for their new favorite person to scream. Julian insists on being the one to do it. Asra takes to napping in the shop.

They both fray at the edges, unraveling the parts of themselves they spent the last few years stitching together. Julian's old anxieties about Faust wriggle to the surface when she slithers around Zawar. He grabs his baby with a squawk.

"She was just bonding," Asra says.

"She's a snake! She could choke them, or bite them." The image of her swallowing Zawar whole makes Julian's stomach revolt.

"She's not going to bite him! Chimes and Flamel looked after me. Why do you always think everyone's going to hurt everyone?"

Zawar cuts them off with a wail. They drop their argument. That's the deal, if they're fighting because of Zawar: they have to stop for Zawar, too.

It rattles Julian anyway, that he and Asra worked so hard to gain peace in themselves, in their relationship, and they're already shaken up.

* * *

It's not all bad. Bursts of freckles decorate Zawar’s tan skin, and their hair grows in pink fuzz that Julian loves to pet. They delight everyone—crowds that once cowered away from Asra lean in to coo, flustering him. Julian shows Zawar off like he's part of a royal procession.

At home, Zawar can't get into much trouble yet, so there are peaceful moments. All of them curled on a pillow pile, Asra kissing Zawar's head while Julian strokes his spouse's hair and glows from how much this tiny person _needs_ them. Asra making dinner while Julian bounces Zawar and paces, telling them all about the lands they can explore someday, and the medicinal properties of plants, and how miracles hide in their other parent's fingertips.

Zawar babbles back. "Wa."

"Ooh, they know their name, don't you, little dumpling?"

Asra smiles. "Are you sure you know their name?"

"Of course I do. It's little love bean, little pumpkin boo..."

Everything about Zawar is little. Their toes, their fingers, their coos. Everything but the galaxies in their purple eyes and their infectious smile.

"Ra," Zawar says. Julian gasps.

"They know _your_ name!"

Asra laughs, but he can't hide his wonder.

* * *

Mazelinka visits often. She knows the best ways to get Zawar to sleep, and to drink enough of the milk Julian's patient donates.

"Nothing foolproof, I'm afraid. I'm not going to just knock him out with potions until he’s older," she says.

"It's soup," Julian mutters. It's a lost battle, but life changes every day now, and he wants his child to have Mazelinka's very normal soup.

_Normal_ isn't on the table for any child of theirs. Asra changes the room's temperature with a wave of his hand when Zawar fusses; Julian tells Zawar stories from his past that Asra warns him not to repeat, once they're old enough to understand; and a parade of princesses sing for them.

And there are the concerns the couple whispers about late at night. How they were both orphaned by the time they were ten. How they met during a plague, and made pacts with eldritch beings, and spent years apart while Julian fled the law. They came to terms with these things before marrying, but the thought of what they'll pass along drags it all up.

His murderer’s brand sits stark on the hand cradling Zawar’s head. Years ago, Asra offered to erase it. _It’s a nice little souvenir,_ Julian had claimed; he already felt strange about how many scars his body healed before his heart could, grateful only to be rid of the ones on his chest. Now, he imagines it bleeding through to his palm, staining his child.

At his request, Asra rubs his thumbs over the lines, erasing them with mystic whispers. Julian stares at a stranger’s hand before lifting it to cup Asra’s face.

The next time Mazelinka comes over, she takes his knuckles to examine the change, and some of the lines of her face seem to smooth. Then Zawar spits up on their blanket, and her attention shifts.

Whenever Asra is the one most frantic, Julian remembers that it takes a village. They have Mazelinka, and Aisha and Salim, and Aunt Pasha and Aunt Nadia and Nazali, not to mention Carrow and Muriel with protection spells, or Malak and Faust...

Zawar will never be alone. The first thing he and Asra insisted, when they spoke of having children, and still their firmest wish.


	2. Lightning Strikes Twice

Years pass without intermission. Zawar learns names for real and asks for a hundred stories, learns to crawl and almost burns down the kitchen making his sleeping parents breakfast. Julian tries to track it all to no avail. Carrow, who’s been helping with the businesses, tries to organize all three buildings to less avail.

Every outing is an adventure. Asra and Julian are prone to detours, but walking a block with Zawar takes an hour. "I like your bag!" Zawar will say to a passerby, and then, remembering their manners, "Hi! I'm Zawar! That's my dad, and that's my Asra!"

Julian braces for the world to be cruel, for Julian to have to pull him back, but the world bends in the face of that dimpled smile and curly mop of hair.

At night, Zawar's zest for adventure doesn't cease, as they drink up Asra's esoteric bedtime stories. They make additions of their own, and between the two of them, Julian is flummoxed by words that all seem to be code for something else.

"What does the dog in this story look like, again?" he asks one night.

"Its fins are big! That's why it keeps dropping the cake," Zawar says.

"Obviously, Ilya.”

"Oh, silly me."

Zawar's love of stories doesn't end there. They play dress up with Julian's wigs and gather props for shows, which the family watches with applause.

“Time to take your show on the road,” Julian says as code for nights with grandma and grandpa. Despite Aisha's interventions, Salim always lets Zawar have a little too much baklava, a small price to pay for Asra and Julian to have an actual date night.

Even then, it's hard not to think about their child while at the theater; Julian can see in Asra's eyes when he drifts away, and strokes Asra's hand.

"I love you," he leans over to whisper, in case he's forgotten to say it for Asra's ears alone. Asra leans into him and closes his eyes.

* * *

Pasha can’t get over the fact that her daughter is younger than Julian's child. Not that she'd ever say Nandita needed to come earlier, or was anything less than perfect. Julian wouldn't, either; he spoils her as much as he can spoil a girl who lives in a palace.

“There’s my little princess!” he says whenever she peeks around Pasha’s skirt.

“You know she doesn’t understand that’s a term of endearment?” Pasha tells him once.

“Oh, no. Should I try precious baby queen? Or—”

“Little princess should suffice,” Nadia says. She claimed before Nandita came that she’d never patronize her daughter, though as soon as the baby arrived, so did the endearments.

There are other ways to delight Nandita. Of all the steeds in the stables, Julian is her favorite, not to mention her favorite dance partner.

Sometimes, he regrets deciding not to live at the palace, and not just because his in-laws still bring it up. For all Nandita is shy on her own, she and Zawar chase each other around the gardens and splash each other with fountain water, pretending to be pirates. Nandita’s curls bounce against her brown skin as the two play doctor, soldier, and any other roles they can come up with. Only games involving princesses confuse her.

"I'm just glad they're close in age," Pasha comments as they watch. "They can look out for each other."

Julian studies her wistfully. Her hair is pinned in a complicated braid, and being a mother has aged her expression. It's hard to baby her when they both have actual children.

"If Zawar is ever framed for murder, I'm sure Nandita will rescue him," he says.

"Don't you dare jinx it! And of course she would, that goes without saying."

He can't ruffle her hair when it's up like that, so he settles for squeezing her shoulders.

* * *

At home, Zawar often asks when they can visit the palace—or, scratching that, play with the neighbors. Even sleeping alone makes them toss and turn. Again, Julian decides against moving; Nandita is one of the only children there, and it seems it will stay that way, as Nadia doesn't want her daughter to feel a need to compete.

"Zawar ought to have a sibling," Julian says one morning. Asra chokes on his tea.

"You barely survived resting last time, even without Zawar to play with."

"We could adopt." Julian's fingers drum on the table. "Zawar looks happy, I hope, but being an only child just seems so lonely." They have their cousin, of course, but she’s always busy with one lesson or aunt or another.

Asra grows wistful. "It is." Faust curls around his shoulders, and Julian tries to imagine her as a tiny noodle in little Asra's hair.

"No reason to decide right now," Julian says.

That continues to be the line until a few months later, when they find the toddler in an alley, shivering inside a crate.

* * *

Motya doesn't speak. They're old enough to have learned some words, but they watch the world silently with wide, dark eyes. They seem to absorb everything; Julian is sure they would share insights all their own, if they could. Aisha and Salim believe they'll speak when they're ready but can't be sure. Asra starts teaching everyone sign language, just in case; he learned some when Carrow woke from the dead, having forgotten speech.

At first Julian and Zawar talk to Motya constantly, in case nobody taught them words, not that either needs an excuse. Motya covers their ears and rubs their pale nose against Asra's leg.

"Give them space," Asra says with a hand over their black hair. He sets up art projects for everyone and lets Motya smear handprints on his sketches. Motya’s movements are thoughtful; Julian could watch them stack objects for hours, if Zawar didn’t knock over their creations without his attention.

It’s not out of malice. Zawar is always taking Motya's hand or picking them up, trying to give them a tour of the world, like being their guide is a lifelong mission. It makes Julian so nostalgic that he forgets Pasha is at the palace, with her own child too big to carry around on her hip.

Motya breaks the illusion by resisting Zawar. They don't want to climb up ship rigging or call out to seagulls. They want to burrow into Asra's arms or cling onto his leg, like as long as they're touching Asra, nothing can hurt them. Julian knows that feeling. It doesn't stop him from moping when they won’t come over to him.

At first, Asra just laughs while Julian pouts. Then Julian's anxiety mounts. What if Motya never likes him? What if Motya never likes anyone except Asra, can never bring themself to explore the world?

Even Asra barely explores anymore. He never complains, but with two kids he sleeps as badly as he did in Zawar’s infant days. He shushes everyone, declaring everything too loud for Motya—the city, Julian's singing, the parrot Zawar adopted at the pier.

Everything except Muriel. He brings that wolf and sits as large and silent as a mountain while Motya hums into the wolf's neck. Sometimes, he even leaves the forest without Carrow, if Carrow thinks two strangers at once will be too much. It's the only way Asra can nap, or join Zawar and Julian in rowdier playing.

“Being a parent means making sacrifices,” Asra says whenever Julian expresses concern. It’s odd hearing something Julian would have said from Asra’s lips, but everything’s different now, and he’s right.

* * *

One day, a crash and a sob send Julian running. Zawar stands in the kitchen with the remains of a bowl at his feet. Julian scoops him away from the shards, trying to soothe his tears.

"Asra will never play with me again," Zawar wails.

"It's just a bowl, you're all right, Asra loves you," Julian repeats, to no avail.

He gets them to sit down with some juice until they quiet. Between their hiccups, he parses that they thought learning magic would impress Asra enough to take his attention away from Motya. Julian sags.

Inexplicably, the story makes Asra howl. "I'm sorry," he says between giggles. "It's just, that's exactly what happened the first time I tried magic, too."

Julian lets Asra laugh before he explains why Zawar did it. "They think they need to earn your attention back, darling. Don't you think you should, ah, talk to them about that?"

Asra sobers. Horror spreads on his face in inches. "Oh. Oh, no, I just thought..."

"Two parents, two children, it's convenient, I know. We're learning." He rubs Asra's shoulders. Sibling dynamics are new to Asra, but Julian remembers the day Pasha was born, and he stopped being the local darling. "Tell him about your first magic spell, he’ll like that."

Asra does one better, setting up a safe space to teach Zawar magic. Julian gives it a wide berth; he still only knows a few spells, and the last thing Motya needs is to feel abandoned.

It’s a chance to finally bond with them. For someone who's good with children, his charm seems to slip off Motya. He tries to follow Asra's advice and be quiet, sitting next to Motya with a book, his mind not following the words. Motya sucks their thumb and leans over to look. Their finger, thankfully chubbier than it used to be, taps at the page.

"Oh, you want me to read to you?" It's the first medical textbook within reach, not exactly story time material, but he's so thrilled to fulfill any wish of theirs that he begins a paragraph about femurs. They seem engrossed.

After a while, they look down at themselves, flexing their fingers. "I have so many bones," they say.

Julian almost drops the book and runs next door to yell, _Asra, our baby is a genius_.

"You sure do!" he says instead. "You have more than two hundred."

They pat their cheeks, their mouth forming a little _o_ , and Julian's face hurts from grinning.

* * *

Motya continues to talk exactly as much as they need to. Nandita visits to read to them and seems glad for the change of pace. Zawar struggles with magic, emitting sparks and bubbles and rainbow smoke before he finally heats a cup of water.

"They used air currents, rather than acting on the water itself," Asra says, tapping his chin. It's a habit he's picked up from his mother; Julian doesn't know if he's noticed.

"What does that mean?"

"It means we’re going to have a flying child on our hands."

Julian glances out the window at where Zawar is hopping along below their parrot, supervised by Malak and their honorary great grandmother. "Oh. Oh, no."

Asra's lips curl up. "The good news is that ships love a good weather mage."

In a way he hasn't in years, Julian pictures his parents, struck down at sea by some eldritch lightning. A wave of goose bumps covers him. " _Absolutely not_."

"It won't be an issue until it's out of our hands," Asra says, rubbing Julian's back. "Did you find something else to read to Motya?"

"No, there's not a huge market for 'medical texts my spouse says I can let a toddler look at,' but I'll keep hunting." It’s still femurs, for now—Julian won’t give up the chance to bond with Motya, even if it means skipping past some pages.

Despite his reaction to his children sailing, after they're tucked in, he starts thinking of all of the vacations they can have together. He chatters while he tries to catch up on dishes.

"We should all go camping. Oh, imagine when they're big enough to sail to Nevivon!"

Asra is sprawled out on the floor, in between some toys Salim designed and a couple of small hats. He slides a pillow over his face. "How do you... energy."

"The same way I keep up with our children, dear. Coffee."

Thunder rumbles in the distance. Even now, it makes Julian's teeth chatter. He sets down the dishes and clears off enough of the floor to lie next to Asra, who seems energized by the rain pattering on the roof. His magic lights cast the room in purple.

Two pairs of footsteps come down the stairs like thunder and rain. Motya's hand clings to Zawar's. "See, they're both here," Zawar says in a coo like he’s attempting to imitate Asra. Motya seems torn between running to them and hanging onto Zawar.

"I know it's bedtime," Zawar says to their parents. "I told them storms are cool."

Asra slides a pillow between himself and Julian. Their children climb over them, Motya curling against Asra's stomach and Zawar's tiny, fluffy ponytail tickling Julian's arm. They expand and contract together as they breathe, warmer and softer than anything Julian ever expected to have.

He thought he reached his apex of love with Asra—Asra's fingers twining with his on their (second) first date, Asra's wedding dress brushing his ankles, Asra's wrong turns combined with his extending their honeymoon.

Asra's children— _their_ children—wedged between them pushes Julian past capacity, like he's not only climbed a mountain but lifted off into the sky, where the air's too thin to breathe.

Lightning flashes, bleaching the purple room into lavender. _It never strikes twice_ , claims a sailor's myth. For Julian, a man once sent to the gallows, it blesses him again and again, every day.


End file.
